


soaring, tumbling, freewheeling

by colferstilinski



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Darren is a total dork but it works out in the end somehow, Fluff, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Not the sexual kind but you'll understand what I mean when you read, uh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 15:15:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/623586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colferstilinski/pseuds/colferstilinski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe this whole time-out thing was a brilliant idea, just badly disguised in utterly horrid decision making, most of them by Ashley. Figures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	soaring, tumbling, freewheeling

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'd, and there's no porn, and the ending is weird. Don't look at me.

He meets _him_ when he gets strung along, okay, maybe it’s leaning more towards the illegal kidnapping kind rather than the consensual agreement type, for an impromptu Paris trip with Ashley.

Chris loves her, he really does, it kind of comes with the whole best friends’ quota and bless her heart and everything since she was his saving grace back in freshman year in university with her whole let’s fuck shit up and let our funk get loose personality that dug him out of his really mundane, woe-is-me shell, but _this_?

There is a line, and it has been crossed, like way, way crossed over the California County state and over to European lands of line. He probably needs to get her a friendship for dummies 101 or something to deal with her lack of everything that is sane.

Chris tolerates the late Friday night smash-ins with parties and overzealous amounts of booze that makes him sick all through till Monday morning, but the whole ‘Hey, guess what, me and your mom? We’re real tight, sorority sister bonds tight, and she totally hit us up with a flight that leaves in three hours. So, get packing!’ is really stretching it.

Yeah, he wonders if the police force works the same way in Europe like they do back in the states because this lady who’s dragging him around at the arrival gates in the airport, at _France_ , is definitely hopping up some major cray-cray pills.

“Hey, stop fronting.” Ashley shoulder bumps him and shoots him an awfully gleeful grin. It makes him want to whack her up the head and let Cheshire the cat put her to shame. “You love me, yes you do, don’t give me that face. It’s a horrible face.”

“No, it’s not.” Chris scowls even more just to set her off, hopes the frown lines on his forehead are deep enough to show her how much he detests her at this moment. Ashley laughs it off because misery is her fuel to her demonic ways and drags them to the baggage claim area.

They’re waiting for his little hand carry bag that Ashley tossed it in with her luggage and he spots it still traveling at the far end of the belt. He kind of plans on hopping onto the conveyor belt and hopes it’ll send him back on a return flight back home.

He’s desperate enough to give it a try, and in desperate times, shit, people do crazy things, okay?

“This is crazy!” Chris exclaims suddenly, hands flying up and drawing several lacklustre attention from the surrounding passengers whom they boarded with. “ _You’re_ crazy, and I demand you to return me back my passport because I would like to return back to the states and not be an illegal immigrant.”

Ashley looks at him and sighs, exasperatedly. “No, it’s not, and no you’re not gonna, so calm your nipples. We both know that you deserve this time out, okay? Even your mother thinks so, and _mother_ knows best.”

Chris’ eye twitches.

He’s just about to mouth her off when Ashley swoops in and cuts him off. “Nuh-uh, no arguing, we’re spending two weeks in the city of love. Also, you’re getting all knee deep with your thesis work, it can wait. The French revolution still would have happened once you’re back in our four walled dorms. Also, hello, look around! You’re in France, you and your revolutionary tales can now connect on a deeper, meaningful level.”

He feels the vein on his forehead popping when he grits out, “Ten thousand worded thesis.”

“Like I said,” Ashley starts, eyebrows waggling. “ _Deeper_ levels. You could even write up how you and the French discovered the new ways of revolution. You know, with tons of lube and ol’ fashioned anal.”

Chris groans ruefully, all anger washing out of him and replaced it with disdain. “I am not drunk enough for you start talking about gay sex.” He pauses. “No, actually, I am never drunk enough to be associated with you in public.”

“Oh, _please_.” Ashley tuts and cocks her hips with sass that’s too much like the inner diva she displays during Saturday drag nights. “If you didn’t have me, your magnificent gay head would be swimming with gray hairs.”

Chris narrows his eyes at her. “You know what? I’ll just ignore you, unless you can shove down like, twenty shots of dry tequila down my throat, I don’t know you.”

Ashley snorts, “You’re just a bitter man that you can’t find the wild animal in you. I’m all tigress and purrs, while you’re just, _eh_.”

Chris flips her off. “Shut up and get the bags, woman.”

-

Of course he doesn’t meet _him_ at the airport. His life isn’t some romantic sitcom show just waiting to happen and he’s definitely not the Rachel to a cute French man Ross. No, he’s just a guy (a very normal, sane guy, unlike Ashley, she’s the crazy one) from California that heavily invests most of his allowances on bad coffee and stale bagels, so things like that don’t just happen to him.

But he does meet him, eventually.

No, not the French man Ross, but’s pretty close. More like a French man Chandler, without the French.

Okay, a _little_ French.

-

“Really? Disneyland, _really_?” Chris deadpans, expression stoic when he sees the flashy mickey sign overhead through the windows from inside the cab. “You just couldn’t wait until the second day, or maybe the last, after all the sight-seeing and that crock of bullshit where quote, _‘deeper levels of revolution’_ , unquote, is said by you?”

Ashley pinches him on the thigh, “Shut up. Hannah specifically requested me to drag you here first. If anything, she’s the one that deserves to be faulted. I am totally innocent on this.”

Chris sputters indignantly and smacks the hand that pinched him. “Oh, so now you’re sister bonding with Han? What’s next, my dad? Completing the full circle?”

Ashley smirks, god does he hate it when she does it. Bad things happen when she pulls that evil, evil grin on her face. She pats him on the cheek. “Don’t you know that I have poker nights with Tim?”

“First name basis,” Chris moans miserably, shaking his head. “Ah, shit, just spare me and gun me now.”

“Kinky,” Ashley says cheekily and pulls out a few wads of freshly pressed euro notes and hands it over to the cab driver.

“Why me, why?” Chris says piteously, rubbing his face furiously while he gets dragged out the cab by the arm. The cab driver laughs and waves them off to have a good time with a thick accent and fails to see Chris struggling and mouthing ‘help me’ with flaily hand expressions that say she’s the devil and has kidnapped him from America.

Or maybe he did, and that why he’s laughing.

He hates everything.

-

Okay, he takes it back. He doesn’t hate everything after all because life is finally playing right into his cards and see, Ashley has this _thing_ where she hates rollercoasters.

Chris is only human, and a devious one at that with a side plate full of hearty cold revenge waiting to be served, so he demands to seat on all the rollercoaster rides with her. Twice.

It makes his day a little better, okay, he definitely temporarily forgets the whole incident where he got forced onto a plane because Ashley said something about testicles and ripping, and he’s seen that one guy around in campus who still runs around corners with Ashley, cupping his crotch protectively, so he’s definitely not going to provoke her further when she whips out that threat.

So, it’s definitely a highlight when Ashley gets off on the fourth ride, green in the face and clenching her mouth shut as she makes a run to the nearest toilet. He bends over and laughs, hopes it’s loud enough that Ashley can hear his voice echoing into the ladies toilet.

Also, it helps that there’s that one mascot at the corner of his eye, in a Goofy costume (like the Disney character, goofy, not a funky weird costume) on his knees, doing some kind of cheap imitation of Ashley hurling before he stands up and scampers around with big, jerky actions while it’s big hand are covering the nuzzle of the mascot head.

It sends Chris wracking in another serious bout of laughter and he gives goofy two thumbs up.

-

 “ _Christopher_ ,” Ashley moans weakly and slumps against Chris once she’s out of the washroom. “Not cool.”

Chris surveys her expression and throws her a grim smile. “Oh honey, are you feeling better? Don’t worry, now that it’s all out of your system, you should be feeling good in no time!” He smirks and flips out the map where he had shoved it into the back pocket of his jeans minutes ago. “Also, while you were in there, I saw that there’s this one waterslide coaster all the way at the far end. We should go!”

Ashley grumbles and mutters curse words low enough only for him to hear and Chris—well, he starts laughing because he spots a flurry of orange and blue in his peripheral.

It’s Goofy. He’s walking around drunkenly, much so like Ashley, and his hands are jabbing up in the air with mock anger. Chris snorts that time round and gets an evil stint eye from her.

Worth it, though.

-

“Okay, no more. That’s it!” Ashley seethes and she has her fists clenched tight at her sides, her cheeks nicely flushed and wet hair all matted on her forehead. “That’s the last ride I’m going to torture myself with, because I’m pretty fucking sure you’ve forgiven me already since you’re bursting a nut laughing every few minutes.”

“ _Aww_ ,” Chris coos, patting her softly on the shoulder where her shirt is clinging onto her skin. “Did I anger our little baby? Is she too scared to seat on the big kids rides  already? There, there. It’s okay.”

Ashley swats his hand away, narrowing her eyes at him. “I’m warning you, Colfer, sleep with your eyes opened tonight.”

Chris snorts and goes, “Oh yeah, definitely,” and watches her storm away animatedly to one of the benches at a nearby rest stop before he’s shouting after her, “Don’t worry! I’ll even wear protective gear, sweetie!”

A couple of locals give Chris a few odd looks, muttering in garbled sentences of their native language about them. He’s never been good with French, actually in general languages, he only knows how to speak Irish and fluent royalty, but he definitely knows how to spot out ‘weird fucking Americans’ in any language, even sign.

 _Especially_ sign.

Maybe this whole time-out thing was a brilliant idea, just badly disguised in utterly horrid decision making, most of them by Ashley. Figures.

-

“Salut!”

Chris jolts his head up from where he’s browsing through the now heavily crumpled map, mid pondering where they should go next since it’s only a quarter past four (euro time) and they still haven’t covered most of the places. He also makes a mental note that they should backtrack and head on to that Kodak store they missed earlier to get one of those snap and diss cameras to create momentos for Hannah.

That’s when he realizes he’s probably acting out the ‘deer with headlights’ idiom with the guy in front of him.

He’s all cheek flushed and sweat painted arms, and _oh_ , his hair is definitely worth mentioning but Chris thinks it’s probably polite to just ignore it rather than point out that his hair is sticking out at several corners.

Chris fumbles when he realizes he’s staring, “Uh, bonjour, monsieur?” and winces when he realizes how thick and foreign the words are on his tongue.

The guy cracks up a grin, and it throws Chris off. What? He’s gay in America, he’s definitely still gay in Europe, so excuse him for feeling a little pleased.

The guy isn’t all that tough on the eyes either, except the hair. The hair is salvageable though, but the talking, not so much because he starts yapping on about something in French that he can’t quite catch and it starts hurting his brain in ways that is only possible when he’s trying to gather as much research as he can before the library closes.

“No, um, uh...” Chris starts and he’s trying to find the correct words to say, but apparently four years of learning the language just gets thrown out of his brain and replaced with the constant thrum of barbarian language where he repeats ‘me no speak you French’.

He decides to heck it and go with it.

“Me no speak you French,” Chris says lamely and he’s signing it with his hands too. Pointing at his chest and then at the guy and then a whole gibber jabber of arms that says too much of his intellectual knowledge, which isn’t a lot at this moment.

“Man,” The guy laughs and tucks a little hair behind his ear, gets one of the ends that were poking out really horribly. “It’s cute when you try, but not to fret, I speak American!”

His accent is a little drizzled with rounded French edges, like he’s been speaking it for years but still frayed in a sense where it’s a little mix and match of the general American taste that is oddly quirky and adorable.

“Oh, uh, could have helped a brother out when I started to look like I was about to vomit.” Chris grimaces, rubbing at his neck and feels the heat bloom on his cheeks.

The guy throws his head back and racks up a good laugh like Chris just made his life by being a pretentious douchebag or something. If it’s not because of his petite size, he’d probably throw a good punch at his jaw because, rude.

Having a stranger laugh at him is just not one of the finest things to have on today’s menu, especially after the whole surprise get-go with Ashley.

“Sorry man, got carried away.” He says, shoulders’ still jerking a little like his body is deliberately betraying him to prove that he doesn’t feel all that apologetic. “It’s always good to mess around with the non-locals in this place. It’s fucking Disneyland, magical place to bring in a few laughs here and there. I also heard it’s a great medicine.”

Then he _winks_ , at him.

“Uh?” Chris startles and for a quick second thinks that maybe he’s being punk’d, or maybe it was Ashley’s idea for payback. Yeah, the latter sounds much more reasonable since Ashton definitely isn’t focusing on people who aren’t hot topic celebrities. “Oh-kay?”

“What your name?” The guy asks suddenly, changing the subject and starts bouncing on the balls of his feet, like he can’t keep still for too long. “And where’s your lady friend? Still chugging up her lunch?”

“Wait, what?” Chris splutters and backs up slowly, because now the cute stranger has suddenly evolved into certified grade A stalker material and it’s not cool in any country. Damn it, it’s always the cute ones.

“Oh shit, no. No.” He says quickly and his face breaks out in some kind of revelation where he finally pieced together the puzzle pieces. “Fuck, no, I’m not stalking you! No, man, I’m just like—woah, okay, let’s just back up like ten steps okay, long legs? I’m Goofy!”

“Goofy?” Chris repeats weakly and his voice is just laced with confusion. He’s like a talking, breathing question mark at this point.

His mind then kicks into overdrive when the guy starts parading around drunkenly with an animated stance where he’s doing hurling motions and it looks really spastic rather than bordering on the stalker/murderer stanza.

“ _Oh_!” Chris exclaims loudly after a long beat when the guy is just about to break out with jazz hands. “You were the goofy mascot?”

The guy preens a little and huffs his chest. “Infamous goofy, by day but when night falls, I go by Darren. Some people here call me Dee because they can’t pronounce my name properly and make it sound like I’m all snobbish and mighty, but then there’s also the penis innuendo which you Americans always take a dig in.”

“R _ight_.” Chris drawls, nodding his head and trying to take in as much as he can. There are Ashley levels of crazy, then there’s him, goofy dude whose name is apparently Darren. “So, goofy-by-day.” He starts and Darren makes a face like oh, you’re _that_ type of guy. “Still doesn’t prove that you weren’t stalking me, though.”

Darren points at his far right and smugly announces, “Staff locker, ya see?”

Chris traces the direction he’s pointing with his eyes and goes, “Ah,” drawing out the ‘h’ sound a little too long before a wave of silence sweep over them.

Of course, Darren starts up the conversation again.

“So, long legs, got a name? Or are we just going to skedaddle around that and pretend like we’re not going to be having a little fun together?” The next word dies on his lips when Chris’ face starts to morph into something that resembles a little like mortified shock. “Jesus fuck me, I mean, _platonic_ fun, you know? With the whole I work at Disneyland and I know this place inside out, able to cut queues for you and your friend and I could totally give you an astounding tour and shit.”

Chris raises a judgemental eyebrow at him. “It’s Chris.”

“Chris?”

“My name? I prefer to be called Chris than, uh, long legs.” Chris says and he’s trying to hold his cool when Darren beams at him. “It’s flattering, but I’m more of a Chris guy.”

“Chris,” Darren repeats, lets the name loll on his tongue for another three more times before he’s saying, “I like it, your name. Definitely better than most of the names I’ve made up for you.”

“Oh?” Chris asks, curious now.

“Yeah,” Darren grins sheepishly. “There may be a mental list and I promise you I’m going to burn it, yeah, gusto it with fire because, um, long legs is actually considered one of the more…parental approved ones.”

“Oh,” Chris says dumbly, feels the blush creeping to his hairline now. He probably looks like a ripe tomato, so he does what any normal person would do, change the subject. “So, how about that tour? Free of charge, yeah?”

Then Ashley pops out from nowhere before Darren could reply, bouncing in little jittery sugar rushed movements beside him and then she shoves a handful of cotton candy into his mouth, shouting excitedly, “O _ooh_! Finally found you! thought I lost you for a moment there. Also, who’s the hot shorty? You banging him? Or does he like to be the banger? C’mon, don’t leave me hanging. I want the dits.”

Chris thinks maybe homicide is okay in Europe, city of love, and all that jazz.

-

Darren eventually does heed with his word and follow on with that tour. They also managed to backtrack and buy three cameras which Ashley quickly finishes the first roll of film entirely with just Disney princesses strutting around, waving around little plastic wands while posing for her.

Chris rolls his eyes but inwardly think it’s probably good since his roll mostly have Darren in it. It’s not creepy, okay? He can justify it with facts, with bullet points and all that.

Firstly, it’s definitely not his fault that the man is gorgeously photogenic and secondly, it is a whole lot of blame on Darren for constantly being in the foreground. Lastly, sometimes his index finger just slips when he’s holding onto the camera, and it’s definitely not because the setting sun illuminates breathtakingly against Darren’s skin when they’re at La Terrasse, grabbing a quick bite.

It’s most definitely not.

-

The excitement buzz of the tour slowly dwindles down when it gets dark out, the crowds around them starts to thin out meanwhile the adrenaline that kept them on their toes gradually falters since a half hour ago when Chris forbade Ashley to buy anymore candy from the push carts, dangling a threat of his fist in her mouth.

Yeah, he has succumbed to that, prone to using violence now.

He has his reasons, though. There was a whole lot of tumbling and screeching, mostly by Ashley. “This is Paree, Christopher! Can’t you hear the city calling our names?” Listen to the little birdies and—oh-em-gee, is that a gigantic paper mache of Cinderella’s glass slipper?” and she breaks out into song of a random Disney classic.

Darren’s a good sport, though.

He laughs along and every once in a while he does a tidbit of imitation for Chris’ sake, maybe exaggerates it a little too, but he enjoys those little moments, soaks it all up. He hasn’t choked out laughter this much in months, maybe even years, and it feels wonderful to let it all out of his system.

Also, there was one point where Darren swept to his knees in the middle of a path road, held out his hand like he was gripping onto an imaginary microphone and serenaded him to _[‘A whole new world’](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BukzDp8n-V0#t=0m38s)_ while Ashley looped around them, sprinkling torn up napkins they kept from the café earlier on.

A little girl caught Chris’ attention at the corner of his eyes, she had a plaited dress pressed on her small body and was pointing excitedly at them, tugging onto a man’s shirt and shrieking in a rough sounding English accent, “Daddy! Daddy, come look! The Disney princes are singing to each other! Look!”

Chris also had a kindle of thought that he may not be a full on evolving Grinch. It’s a heated discussion he had with himself because apparently, from several sources, he’s not enthusiastic about a lot of things young people should be about, like romance or, you know, being wild every once in a while.

He has proof when something warm blossoms in his stomach and curls into the tips of his toes like adolescent happiness when he watched the father scooped her daughter into his arms and said, “Yeah, my sweet pea, they’re in love. Just like me and your mommy, don’t you forget that.”

Then he shuts his eyes in embarrassment when he realized that they have drawn in a small crowd of audience from the near passer-by’s, cheeks hurting from where he was positive that he was pulling several different muscles from grinning this hard.

“Now _that_ —” Darren murmured into his ear when the audience starts breaking out into rowdy chatter and applause at the end. “—that’s just a little magic for you.”

Chris thinks if he smiles any wider, his face might fall off at any given moment.

-

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Darren asks softly, watching the little rainbow coloured fishes swimming above their heads from where they’re riding through the little conveyor tunnel at the sea life aquarium. “That we’re actually able to experience all of this beauty without, you know, drowning. _Duh._ Heh.”

A soft giggle escapes Chris before he manages to hold it in. He ducks his head, mumbling, “Yeah. It is,” and hopes Darren can’t see him blushing for the umpteenth time today.

“We should race,” Darren says after a long, pregnant pause and shoots out to grab Chris’ hand, twining their fingers together. “All the way till the end, c’mon, do it with me.”

Chris hesitates a little, jerking Darren back when he starts to shuffle front. Darren shoots a confused over his shoulder, and Chris just tugs their hands up, dangles it in front of him. “Uh, not to be a ball buster or anything, but if we do it like this, there won’t actually be any winners, since you challenged me to a race.”

There’s a glint in Darren’s eyes, all honey warm and soft, as he squeezes once on Chris’ hand and whispers, “Who says I haven’t already won?”

They start running then, palm to palm, with laughter shadowing them until they trip at the end of the travelator, landing in heaps of ill-bodied limps and shrieking like impish kids who have had way too much fun without any parental guidance in a huge departmental store.

“Nah,” Chris pants out finally, breaths still coming out in short, raspy sounds as he snuffles his face into Darren’s shirt, hiding a smirk. “I think I won that time.”

Chris feels the vibrations on his cheeks when Darren snorts at him, and that’s when he spots Ashley striding towards them and kicks at their shoes. “Hey gay boys, PG-13 please, this is a family place. We don’t need no flying dicks among the innocent fin and gills. Also, I think security is coming so we oughta bounce.”

They hop back onto their feet, scamper in little panic movements towards the exit before Darren grabs a hold of his hand again, shouts “Race you!” and then they’re off running again.

-

“Is this where we bid our adieus?” Darren asks, breaking the long silence that followed after Ashley decided that they should call it a day and head back to the hotel for the night. They just stepped out of Disneyland, lingering around with their hands tucked deep in their pockets and Chris, well, he’s looking at everything except Darren.

There’s just something about saying goodbye to whom he supposes is still somewhat a stranger that feels so final that it scares him. They’ve only spent an approximate five hours, most of it is by running around like kids and howling in laughter until it aches to try, and the fact they he doesn’t know anything else but the guy’s first name, it’s troubling, _yet_.

Chris thinks he doesn’t want to say those two because he’s afraid that he’ll just return back to the old boring, normal guy he always is.

He likes today, although not the earlier parts (see: kidnapping), but the later parts definitely. Ones with Goofy-by-day and Ashley, and a sprinkle too much of bourbon chocolate and mickey shaped gummy candies.

The one the leaves him laughing a little too freely, that isn’t afraid to lose a little of his dignity when he spills diet coke out from his nostrils and looking like a complete idiot because Darren looks worst with the horrible monkey face he’s pulling, or maybe it’s just because of Darren.

Because with him, he feels like he finally don’t need to try so hard to be anyone but himself.

He’s getting real sentimental and deep with his thoughts when Ashley exclaims in what he knows is a really dramatic squeak, “Oh my god! I just saw something—Oh oh _oh_ , gimme like ten minutes, Colfer! There was um, something over there! You guys chit chat while I do some, uh, finding!”

Then she scurries off and they lose her to the small crowd that are also lazing around near the exit.

Chris makes a wry face and coughs, eyes finally landing on Darren. “Sorry about, um, all of that. She must have been dropped on the head when she was a baby.”

“Ah, it’s no problem. I’ve been through worst, trust me. I work at fucking Disneyland, its havoc every day.” Darren assures smoothly and then throws him a nice smile that makes his heart stutter. “So, not to brag or anything, but admit it, I’m the coolest tour guide, aren’t I?”

Chris snickers and bobs his head in a nod, “Yes, yes, that you are, good sir.”

“Well,” Darren drawls and there’s a playful tone in his voice. “I’m off tomorrow and the day after, I could probably extend those touring abilities to the rest of Paris for you, that is, well, if you want.”

“H _mm_ ,” Chris hums and puts a finger on his chin as he pretends to think about it. “I don’t know. It kind of feels like I’ve had enough of the goofy experience to last me for the rest of my line, don’t you think?”

Darren pulls a pout, sniffles a little while patting his chest. “Ouch, that hurts, but I’ll forgive you because I am nothing but filled with whole-hearted forgiveness.”

Ah, there goes the judgemental eyebrow again, “Of course.”

Darren sighs, clicking his tongue. “Oh very well, but so you know, people have said that I do a great Donald.”

“Is that so?” Chris asks, playing along.

Darren smirks and says in a sing-song voice, “Only one way to find out, Chris.”

-

Unfortunately, Darren doesn’t have his Donald suit when they meet up the next day but he dons on a cap with mickey ears, red quarter trousers and a black blazer. “Also known for diversity,” Darren tells him later on that night when they’re near the top of Eiffel tower and leans in to press a kiss against his cold nose.

Chris smiles warmly and teasingly asks, “For your hospitality or your attire?”

“Eh, a little of both, can’t deny them long legs, can I?” Darren replies with a wink.

Chris laughs and huddles closer into his arms, “So, does this make you the Paolo to my Lizzie, France edition?”

Darren squawks and smacks him softly on the butt, “Please, we both know that I can sing better than that doofus, and off the record, you’re totally hotter than Hilary Duff. Like, way, hotter. Salsa hot. My pants may need to take cold showers hot.”

“ _Mhm_ ,” Chris doesn’t even try to hide his grin anymore and he’s scrunching his nose as he smiles. “Keep objectifying me and I’ll make fun of your hair.”

“People dig the hair,” Darren tuts at him and then says. “And the _ears_ , c’mon, the ears are fucking adorable. I make a great stand in Mickey for a dumbass Donald that decides to stay home and jerk off to duck porn.”

He thinks maybe Europe hears his laughter that time round.

-

So, it turns out that he’s not really a French Chandler either. He’s a sweet and salty tang of Italian, meshed in with some sultry French and a little spice of San Francisco, but Chris wouldn’t want anything else other than that.

It’s like his very own version of a romantic sitcom, with badly worded puns, awful imitations and a whole lot of cock blocking. Kind of perfect, actually.

**Author's Note:**

> They return to the hotel and Darren bangs Chris, and Chris bangs Darren. They become bangers, and somewhere along the way they start headbanging because they would.


End file.
